Part Eight: Countenance
When Magdalena awoke, she was in the back of an enclosed carriage, tied and gagged very tightly. There was no one inside with her, but the carriage was moving, so someone was driving it, and quickly too. Testing her bonds, she found them completely impervious to her struggles. There was nothing she could do but wait.
Surely her father would notice her disappearance by now, surely he'd be looking for her, enlisting every able man's help. It might take them a while to find the right trail, but sooner or later…and if she could somehow leave some clue…the carriage would have to stop sometime!
…Or, maybe it didn't. The coach continued on and Magdalena found herself thankful that she hadn't eaten breakfast or she'd need to relieve herself. As it was, there was also a downside to that, for her stomach felt completely empty and growled. It continued for hours and hours, witnessed by the changing of the light through the shaded windows.
Night was when Zorro rode—Magdalena jerked to attention. Could Zorro find her? But she heard no hoof beats, and gradually relaxed again in disappointment. Finally, she fell into an uneasy sleep, feeling distinctly unfed and very uncomfortable.
The next morning, she presumed, she woke with a start when the carriage stopped. In moments, the door was opening and bright sunlight shone in. One of the men from yesterday stood there, and he hauled her out of the carriage, not roughly, though, and undid her bonds. Her limbs were stiff and cramped. She would have crumpled to the ground if he hadn't caught her. He held a cup of water to her lips and she drank deeply, draining its contents and then he refilled it and held it to her lips again.
She felt mostly recovered, and pushed away from the man and took a few, shaky steps. He caught hold of her arm as she noticed her surroundings.
She was on a wharf. There was a ship. Her knees buckled but the man caught her. Dios. They were taking her back to Mexico City.
She tried to struggle but suddenly felt even more disoriented. The drug had hit her bloodstream. She was out in seconds.
When she awoke, she was indeed in a ship's cabin. It was very dark. She hadn't been rebound or gagged. She carefully rose from the bed, feeling strange, but well. And hungry.
As if on cue, the door opened, and a servant entered, bearing a tray. Light entered with the servant. The fare was simple: bread, dried meat and some fruit. An orange. Ignoring the fact that the last time she had accepted food from her captors it had drugged her, she ate quickly. She was too hungry, and was also lucid enough to think that they had no reason to drug her again for she was on the ship now. What could she do? Jump overboard? Not from here. It wasn't drugged anyway for no drowsiness descended upon her.
The servant left, and she tried the door, but it was locked. That certainly didn't surprise her. She paced the cabin all through the day—or so she assumed. There was no window with which to judge the hour. There was a lantern hung from the ceiling, which she lit, and it revealed a small, undecorated cabin, with a bed, chamber pot and a small table. No chair and the bed and table were bolted to the floor.
Every once in a while, she sat on the bed but always sprang up again, not wanting to relax. Her body was buzzing and it seemed to be waiting, but for what? For the one who held her captive to come to her and reveal himself.
Unless, maybe he wasn't there—maybe they were just bringing her to him. She felt energy drain from her body gradually in the long hours ahead. She sank down on the bed, planning to only sit for a moment, but instead fell back onto the pillow, and into a dreamless sleep. This routine lasted.
Food was brought twice a day, she'd pace for the rest, then fall into a deep sleep, occasionally plagued with nightmares. It was hard to keep track of time, and she found herself unable to tell when one day changed. It wasn't necessarily nighttime when she slept, but she took it to be so regardless. When she woke, then it was a new day, at least according to her.
She had tried once to dart past the servant but had come into a small hall, guarded by the two large men. She had gone back into the cabin almost immediately upon spying them. She didn't want to be drugged again.
She wondered often how her father was, and Diego, also. Were they searching for her? Surely they would be. Young senoritas disappearances were not taken lightly. There would be a whole search party, she imagined, perhaps even assisted by Zorro. Not publicly, perhaps, but maybe he sought her at night.
They wouldn't be able to find her though, and her heart ached at the thought of the pain her father must feel. But even so, maybe they could pick up some trail. Surely someone had seen her on the wharf, as she stumbled around and then collapsed in the man's arms. Such an unusual sight had to have been noted.
And her thoughts would then inevitably turn solely to Diego, remembering him, his beautiful face, his large hands, his muscular physique, the way his smile dazzled her. How he had seemed both a playful child and at the same time, completely masculine, entirely a man. The lips that wanted to touch hers but hadn't gotten a chance.
Then her thoughts would turn to Zorro; how different he was from Diego, yet how similar. The angry words spoken by him early in the evening, then tender ones later. How he had kissed her hand…how she had longed for him to remove the mask, yet so completely understood why he wouldn't; why he wore it in the first place.
If she had asked him...if he had indicated more reluctance to leave, what could have happened that night in the inn room, she always had to force herself to not dwell upon. She wished, in her loneliest moments, that she had asked him to spend the night. Despite his chivalry, despite her morals screaming with the knowledge that it would have been wrong, if she had asked…not taken the mantilla…touched his face instead of his arm…he would have stayed, desire trumping chastity.
But when those moments passed, she was always appreciative of the fact that he hadn't stayed. He was too moral a man. He would greatly regret his loss of control, and feel bitterly towards her for the temptation she had offered him. She felt relief in the knowledge that Diego would be searching for her, without any regrets on his conscience. And considering she had no idea what would be done to her, she was also glad that she had a mostly clean conscience also.
And then one day the servant brought a tub, then hot water. A silent maid accompanied him, bearing clothes for Magdalena. She also brought soaps. The servant left.
Magdalena was bathed and dressed in the clothes the servant brought. Besides necessary underwear, there was a dress; it was a very fine, very fancy, very expensive looking dress, its splendor even trumping Senorita Verdugo's. It was a burnt orange color, very high waisted, and very fitted at the bodice. The sleeves were tight to the elbows, and then they flared, slit to show her lower arm. The skirt swished around her legs as she walked. No shoes had been brought and for some reason her other shoes had been taken. The maid hadn't brought stockings. Magdalena's legs were bare, and her toes looked odd peeking out from the hem of her gown. The maid did her hair up tightly, securely. It wasn't a hairstyle that Magdalena would have chosen for her, but it did flatter her. It was pulled into a bun, but let little ringlets come down by her ears.
The male servant returned then, and he led her up to deck. The light—bright sun; it was midday—hurt her eyes but she gradually adjusted. The two large men had followed, and they stood guarding her.
The ship was not large, it was meant for more personal voyages but it didn't seem the type to carry passengers, so that explained the cabin's bareness and lack of space. She stood on the deck, blinking into the sunlight, and a man, clad in a captain's uniform, strode up to her.
He was very tall, at least a foot higher than her, maybe more, and very well muscled. He had the most powerful build she had ever seen, with huge shoulders, bulging arm and leg muscles, and trim of hip, exceedingly so. The contrast between his hips and shoulders was startling. It was obvious this man had devoted his life to achieving this level of physical perfection. His facial features were striking, sharp. He wasn't quite handsome, but he was certainly memorable. His voice was deep, rumbling, with a faint, unidentifiable accent. Magdalena simply couldn't place it.
"I am sorry, Senorita, for your treatment, but it was part of the deal your…it was a condition that you remained in your cabin until we were just outside our destination." He paused. "How are you feeling, Senorita? Healthy, I hope. The food was not that bad."
Magdalena sighed. There was nothing to be gained from yelling at him. He had been hired to abduct her. Well, he could have chosen a better line of work, but as to that, she really couldn't say anything, without the pot calling the kettle black.
"Buenos dias," she said, giving a mock curtsy. "Have we been introduced? I am Magdalena Montes, daughter of Francisco."
He looked surprised, then laughed. "I am Capitan Andres Criado of the Service of the King, at your service." His eyes were laughing at her. She felt uncomfortable and crossed her arms over her chest, regretting it when doing so caused his gaze to land there. She uncrossed her arms again, feeling foolish. He smoothly looked away from her.
"We will be landing soon." His gaze swept over her. "Why don't you have shoes? You will need shoes." He barked quick orders and in moments a chest of shoes was brought to her. "Pick the best fit." He instructed, and strode off.
Magdalena wondered what on earth this ship dealt in. She warily picked through the shoes and finally found a pair. They chafed her feet, though, for there hadn't been any stockings. She was taken back down and locked in her room again. With a sigh, she settled onto the bed. It was a few hours later when she was again led out. Fear struck her at the view from the deck—it was Manzanillo. They were taking her to Mexico City.
Who arranged my capture? She thought wildly as they led her across the deck, and instinctively fought against the men holding her, finally breaking free when she startled them with a heavy stomp on their feet. She had a few steps of freedom, then: "Oh!" She groaned as she collided with a steel wall. It was the captain.
"Honestly, what did you think to achieve doing that?" He asked, sounding amused. He guided Magdalena back to her captors. She didn't struggle as they guided her into the rowboat going to shore. The captain joined them in the boat. Fear gripped her heart.
Just as they reached shore, he pulled a cloak out of nowhere and threw it over her. "If you value your life, you will not remove this, or even let it slip to show your face, until we reach Mexico City," he told her, in a quiet, menacing voice.
They rode to Mexico City in a private carriage, but once there Captain Criado indicated that they would be walking the rest of the way.
They strode down a busy street. She kept her head down, needing to, and so found it difficult to keep track of where they were going. Finally, they reached a rough looking tavern. She was led through it to a back room, where she was guided to a chair. She sat down and briefly placed her head in her hands, just feeling too tired and worried. The bodyguards stayed while the captain left, finally returning.
"Adios, Senorita Montes. Let us go," he said, snapping his fingers and the trio of men departed.
A new man came through the door, a tall, slim, distinguished looking man, with light brown hair that had just a hint of silver. She felt a vague recognition; she had definitely seen his face before, she just couldn't place it. He moved to close and lock the door behind him.
"You may let down your cloak, Senorita." He said evenly, walking to the other chair, and placed his cloak, hat and cane on it. She pulled back the hood, letting it fall off her head. He nodded. "Magdalena Montes. Buenos noches. I am the Viceroy, Don Estevan de la Callas, in case you do not recognize me."
She jerked to attention, feeling both relieved and more frightened than before. Relieved it wasn't one of the Eagle's men; frightened because of Galindo's—"He was sent by the Viceroy to spy on you," and Mendoza's words— "Things altered in the night…I have been told you are not to be trusted in any way."
"I arranged for your…capture," Don Esteban said slowly. "For I heard of plans concerning you."
"Oh?" She asked quietly.
"The Eagle wants you for himself, quite frankly. I have heard frightening things about his plans for you. I captured you for your own safety."
She stared at him. "What does this mean?"
He didn't look at her. "We have known about your involvement with Alenez from the beginning. Despite appearances, our government—certain parts of it—actually possesses quite a bit of knowledge of the Eagle and his doings. You were first approached by Alenez on the Eagle's orders. He had seen you at a party, and immediately, uh, desired you. He wanted you to go higher and higher in his ranks, until the time came for you to meet him. He planned for you to get in deeper and deeper, so that even if you weren't...attracted to him, you would have no choice but to accept his offer. If he had heard from the Magistrado about all the events that transpired in Los Angeles during your stay there, your life would have been in direct peril."
He paused a moment, and an odd smile briefly played on his lips.
"Even Zorro could not have saved you then. I had my men take you because I feared what would happen if the Eagle got his claws on you. It has been arranged that you will stay with my daughter Constancia, in Monterey. You will travel there, with her, as her maid. You will be known as Miranda Calienta. Magdalena Montes will have ceased existing. Believe me, Senorita, this is for your own safety. When the Eagle's reign is ended, you may return as yourself, but to reveal yourself before then…it would put our whole cause in peril." He sighed, a grim smile on his face.
"Put your cloak back on. We will go to my house now, and you will be introduced as a new maid for Constancia. She will help you disguise yourself. Come along." She pulled her cloak tight as they hurried along.
It was getting dark and no one looked at them. A carriage waited outside, which drove away the instant they closed the door. The Viceroy was silent as they drove. Magdalena's head was spinning and she wasn't sure if she should say anything. What did he mean, "it would put our whole cause in peril."
I can't be that important, she insisted to herself. I'm just a stupid girl who has gotten in over my head.
The carriage stopped. The Viceroy hurried out, turning to help her. They stood in front of a respectable hacienda. It wasn't as grand as some official's houses, and for that fact Magdalena decided to respect the Viceroy more. He hadn't taken the job for grandeur or riches. He had taken it to do the job, and do it well. Recalling what few times the Viceroy had come up in conversations, he had always been spoken of with respect, everyone agreeing he was a good man.
She hurried after him into the house. A few servants milled about, but dispersed at the wave of the Viceroy's hand. A senorita was descending the staircase: Constancia, his daughter.
"You made it here safely?" She inquired, anxiously studying her father. He nodded.
"Si. This is Miranda Calienta, your new maid."
As Magdalena passed him, he whispered to her, "She knows everything."
Magdalena curtsied to her, as a servant would. It felt very discomfiting to do so.
Constancia beamed. "Come along, Miranda, and help me pack. Con permiso, father?" He stepped forward and quickly embraced his daughter. "Of course."
Constancia led the way upstairs, pushing the door to her room open with ease. The room was large, elegantly decorated, but not frivolously. More respect for the Viceroy and his family rose in Magdalena.
Constancia shut the door firmly behind them. "You may take off your cloak now."
She did so, placing it on the back of a chair.
Constancia raised her eyebrows. "You're definitely as beautiful as rumors say. What a figure," she said admiringly. "And on top of that, what hair! But, this shall make it harder to disguise you. We shall have to change your hairstyle drastically, and your gown choice, also. Something loose would do. Now you are too recognizable." She said the rest matter-of-factly.
"You need to change immediately. I have just the dress in mind."
She went to her wardrobe and rummaged around for a moment. Magdalena caught a glimpse of a reasonable selection of clothes. Enough for everything but not an overabundance. Her wardrobe reminded Magdalena of her own. Now Constancia wore a simple dress, not unlike the one Magdalena had worn her first day on the ship going to Los Angeles.
She sighed with the realization that another voyage was expected of her. This would be the third in six weeks! She sank down into the chair as Constancia found the correct dress. It was dark blue, of rough material, very plain, and on Magdalena it would indeed be loose. Constancia frowned at the sight of it.
"It is the wrong material for this time of year. You'll swelter," she declared, and cast the dress back down. "We shall have to get you some plain blouses and skirts. We can pad you so that your waist doesn't appear so small. This will be hard." She shook her head. "I'm sorry, but you will have to wear this dress for now." She picked it back up again. "The question is, what are you wearing now? Did you wear that all the way from Los Angeles?"
"No, I got it on the ship just before we went ashore. My clothes from Los Angeles were unrecognizable. I wore them all the way here."
Constancia looked startled. "Hmm. It seems you had a bath today also?"
"Si." Magdalena returned, standing and reaching behind her to catch the fastenings. Constancia strode quickly over and started helping her with the fastenings.
"This is a beautiful dress. But this must be the last time I help you, for you are supposed to be my maid, and I will pay you as if you are, for you'll be doing the work!" The dress was off and soon Constancia helped her into the dark blue gown. The material was rough, and it enveloped her.
Constancia let out a surprised laugh. "It looks terrible!" She exclaimed. "But, that is good. Now for your hair."
She abruptly pulled the pins from Magdalena's bun and it tumbled down. Constancia took a brush and pulled it through Magdalena's hair. "Sit down. You've a lot of tangles for me to work through, so we might as well go over some things. Do you have any immediate questions?"
"Si. What was my father told? What are the people of Los Angeles thinking about my disappearance?"
Constancia winced. "That is a nasty thing to answer. I'm sorry. A letter was written in a likeness of your hand, saying that you had decided to, uh, elope with…someone. Our watcher from Los Angeles reported that Don Francisco was quite angry at the news. I am sorry we had to do that. I believe the news he spread about was that you returned to take care of his cousin, Valentina."
Magdalena felt frozen. After all that wondering, no one was searching for her. No one even cared where she had gone. And Diego—what did Diego think of her?
She felt her resolve crumble and started to cry quietly. Constancia finished her brushing and pinned Magdalena's hair up tight at her nape. The style aged her, making her look like a spinster, albeit a beautiful one. Constancia handed her a handkerchief.
"You're looking worse already." She declared. "We can get you an ugly hat or veil and that can cover your hair and shade your face. You truly have lovely hair, and it wouldn't do for it to be seen; it would attract attention, maybe even admirers." She crouched down beside Magdalena. "Be strong. Help me change into a dinner gown, and then you may rest while I have dinner. Then we can speak longer."
Magdalena helped Constancia change, and then Constancia frowned. "I'd rather not let you mingle with the servants, for they may notice something amiss. I know everyone will find it hard to believe you are a maid so we must keep you hidden. You just sleep on my bed for now and I'll make certain my room isn't disturbed. You are busy packing." Her eyes twinkled, and she reached to clasp her hand. "Be strong, Miranda." She said, stressing the new name, and winking. Magdalena squeezed back. Constancia swept from the room and Magdalena collapsed on the bed.
A/N: Who captured her probably wasn't who you were expecting. I took some liberties with the character of Constancia but nothing too extreme. I made her very 'in the know' and gave her a rather brusque temperament. She is not one to waste time.
At the moment, Magdalena is fighting despair. She is very lonely and doesn't understand many things. She is resigning herself to the fact that she got herself into this mess, and, unfortunately, no one will help her out of it. To her view, the Viceroy and Constancia are just digging her in deeper, no matter how good their intentions are.